Company Of Spears

Calcutta one day. And Hervey had been greatly impressed: not governor of Madras, or even of Bombay, but Calcutta – the primus inter pares, a position of (to all intents and purposes) vice-regal power. ‘I rather think I meant why the singular order of Guelph.’

Somervile looked at him obliquely. ‘You do know that it is the Guelph dynasty which rules in Hanover?’

Hervey made a pained expression. ‘Shrewsbury was, of course, an elementary sort of school, whereas Westminster …’

Somervile raised a hand airily. ‘Yes, Hervey, so you have sported with me before. And you gained a Greek prize, I seem to recall.’

‘Homer, yes.’ Then Hervey smiled again. ‘But in translation.’

Really, Hervey! You make yourself out to be a very simple soldier, and it will not serve. Sit yourself down, sir!’

Hervey did, and was grateful, for even though he had been seated for most of twenty-four hours, a chaise was not entirely easeful quarters. ‘What I truly meant was why – if His Majesty’s government wished to advance you in rank – did they see fit to do it in so outlandish an order. Why not simply knight?’

‘How did your poet-friend put it? “A Senate – Time’s worst statute unrepealed”.’

Hervey shrugged. He knew the sonnet well; Shelley had written it not long after they had each left Rome. And he was as dismayed by its sentiment now as he had been then.

‘I imagine,’ continued Somervile, sounding magisterial, ‘that it was to overcome some objection by others perceiving themselves more worthy than I. You know who are more usually made Royal Guelphs? Men of science and letters. I was honoured, so some gentleman-fartcatcher at the palace graciously informed me, for my translations of Bengali texts.’

Hervey raised his glass, determined to be cheerful. ‘And most deservedly. But for what purpose, since you very evidently do not judge yourself to be meritorious, should His Majesty bestow that fetching blue-ribboned star on you?’ He nodded to a table piled with books and everyday things, on which the order lay as if it had been discarded as casually as an empty claret bottle (unlike Somervile’s Bath cross, of which he was enormously proud).

‘Ah, didn’t I say? I am to be lieutenant-governor of the Cape.’

It was so matter of fact that Hervey had to think twice what he had heard. ‘Somervile, my dear fellow, my very sincere congratulations! This is most unexpected, is it not?’

Somervile leaned forward to refill Hervey’s glass, though it was in less need of attention than his own which he then over-generously recharged and had to stand to find a cloth. ‘While you were doing your best to carry war to Spain,’ he began archly, dabbing irritatedly at the India cotton of his trousers and glancing uneasily at the door lest his wife should appear, ‘you may have overlooked the little matter of Lord Charles Somerset’s impeachment.’

‘Who is Charles Somerset?’

‘Who is Charles Somerset? Hervey, you astonish me.’

‘Then let me guess. I fancy that he is Lord FitzRoy’s … elder brother?’

‘Quite.’

‘And I fancy he is – or was – governor at the Cape.’

Somervile gave a look of ‘I should think so, too’. He sat down again, laying aside the cloth. ‘Is, still, in name. Oh, he won’t be impeached of course. The Whigs want to make mischief, but the Beauforts are too mighty. He was recalled last year, and there’ll be no going back for him.’

‘How has he offended the Whigs?’

‘In a nutshell, by being altogether too autocratic.’

A smile creased Hervey’s mouth the merest fraction. ‘I imagine the elder brother, as the younger, was at Westminster. In your time, perhaps?’

Somervile sneezed and spilled snuff over the damp patch of his trousers. ‘Great snakes, whatever next!’ He stood up again to brush the offended patch, but there was now a smear of brown on the yellowed thigh, like the mark from a sweated saddle. He jerked the bell pull at the chimney-piece.

A khitmagar, turbaned, appeared almost at once. ‘Sahib?’

Somervile rattled away in Urdu so fast that Hervey could not catch even the broadest gist of it. He thought his old friend might need to retire before Emma’s appearance, and asked if they should adjourn.

‘No, no,’ replied Somervile, recovering his composure. ‘Jaswant will be able to divert Emma. I shall go and dress, meanwhile. But to conclude – this part at least – do you know who is General Bourke? He has been sent to the Cape in Somerset’s place, at least for the time being.’

Hervey looked thoughtful. ‘There was a Colonel Bourke in the Peninsula, on Wellington’s staff, as I recall. Might it be he?’

‘It might. He is obviously not without influence, and I can imagine Wellington’s interest in this.’ He waved a hand airily. ‘You understand that man will be prime minister one day!’

‘Bourke?‘

‘No, Wellington!’

Hervey frowned. ‘As well I should be Archbishop of Canterbury!’

Somervile shook his head. ‘Mark my words, Hervey: Liverpool’s a sick man. Who shall replace him? No one will serve with Canning! And Peel would have the Irish in arms in no time. No, it might be for a year or so only, and as – shall we say a caretaker – but I would lay good odds on it.’

Hervey rose, smiling at the notion. ‘Well, be that as it may, what is General Bourke’s situation to be on your arrival?’

Somervile shook his head. ‘That will be nothing to trouble over. He shall be commander of the garrison or some such. But he has sent in a scheme of military reorganization which I would question you about.’ He looked at his trousers again, and then at the clock. ‘See you, Emma will come down very presently, and your godson. I had better go. Pull for Jaswant if you want a bath, there’s a good fellow. And he’ll show you your room. I had better …’ He put down his glass and quit the study with muffled apologies.

In the sudden peace of the little sitting room Hervey took a comfortable chair and began contemplating his old friend’s news, but he rose again in a few minutes on the appearance of Emma.

‘Lady Somervile!’

They embraced warmly.

‘It sounds rather droll, don’t you think?’

‘Not at all,’ replied Hervey, smiling warmly still. ‘I am only diverted by the colourful order into which Eyre has been admitted.’

Emma raised her eyebrows. ‘He has been declaiming on the subject of Guelphs and Papalists ever since he was first canvassed.’

‘I can never remember: the Guelphs were the Papal party?’

‘Just so. Not that he has the least objection to the Catholics.’

‘Merely to medieval Italians?’

She smiled as she took the glass of sherry which Hervey had poured for her. ‘You know very well how agitated he can become about these things. He somehow associates the Guelphs with the Tories.’

Hervey inclined his head. ‘I had never thought of Eyre as a Whig, and still less a republican.’

Emma frowned. ‘He is no more Whig than am I; or you. At present he is very contrary. He cannot make up his mind about this king. I think he would favour revolution if the Company could take over in government!’

Hervey was inclined to see more than irony. ‘Things are awry, but not so great as to tempt such thoughts?’

‘Oh, you know Eyre very well. He likes to imagine he could better arrange everything than people in Whitehall.’

‘He is almost certainly in the right there!’

Emma held up a hand. ‘Do not you begin! He needs no encouragement; rather the opposite indeed. By the way, shall you come with us to Gloucestershire? The house will appeal to you, I think. It is built in the Moghul fashion. Eyre is excessively keen to see it.’

Hervey looked thoughtful. ‘I’m sorry, I had quite forgotten. And Lady Lankester is to accompany?’

‘She is. We go on Friday, until seven days following. Eyre says we can post in just the one day.’